He was asleep.
Curled like a question mark against my thigh, white hair spilling over the blanket. The room was silent, save for the quiet hum of the ceiling vents. I sat motionless, watching the gentle rise and fall of his breath, fingers brushing absently through the mess of his hair.
He smelled faintly like the boss again—his scent clung stubbornly to Nine's skin, like it had soaked into his pores.
I hated it.
Not because it reminded me of what had been done.
But because it wasn't me.
It wasn't my scent on him.
It should've been.
The thought came from nowhere. Or maybe it came from deep. Somewhere lower, more primal.
I didn't mean to let my pheromones slip.
Didn't mean to test him.
But something inside me had been coiling for days. Building. Gnawing at the edges of my self-control. The things I'd seen. The things they'd done to him. And the way he'd curled into my lap afterward like I was the only safe place left in his broken little world—it set something off.
My wolf—Nyx—had been pacing for hours, restless and tense.
And now, with the boy I couldn't save asleep in my lap, I finally stopped fighting it.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.
Let it happen.
Let the warmth unspool beneath my skin.
It wasn't like flipping a switch. It was more like surrendering. Letting my body remember what it meant to want—not just to protect, but to claim.
The air changed.
Subtle. Not enough for human noses.
But Nine wasn't fully human.
And neither was I.
His breath caught.
Just barely.
His head shifted slightly, nose pressing closer to the inside of my thigh. A soft, sleepy sound escaped him—not quite a whine, not quite a sigh. Something between.
His fingers curled tighter in the fabric of my pants.
Nyx growled softly in my mind, He smelled it.
I held still.
Watched.
Waited.
He stirred again, eyelids fluttering, brows twitching just faintly. And then—
He rubbed his cheek against my leg.
It wasn't conscious. Wasn't fully awake. But it was real.
A response.
He wasn't trained for this. They hadn't taught him what scent meant. His conditioning had focused on submission, not instincts.
But somewhere in the deep, animal parts of him—he knew.
And it shattered me.
Because something in me knew, too.
The bond flared—not a thread, not a wire, but a pull. A deep, hot tether that snapped taut.
I leaned down.
Brushed my nose against his hair.
His scent was faint beneath the chemicals, but it was there.
His.
Mine.
I tilted his chin gently with one hand.
He let me.
His eyes blinked open, hazy and unfocused.
Then widened slightly when they met mine.
Still, he didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He just looked at me—like I was something too big to understand. Something terrifying. Something sacred.
And I kissed him.
Soft.
Just a brush.
My lips on his.
He went still.
Didn't respond. Didn't retreat.
Just froze—like his body couldn't quite process what was happening.
I pulled back slowly, guilt already rising like a tide.
His eyes stayed wide.
Then—slowly, so slowly—his hand came up and touched his lips.
A question.
Not of what had happened.
But why.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
But I had.
And we both knew it.
Because some part of me had been waiting for this. Waiting for permission. For even the tiniest flicker of response.
And he'd given it.
Not by choice.
But by instinct.
And that made it worse.
Nyx didn't care.
She was still curled deep in my chest, purring.
Ours.
Ours.
Ours.
I hated her for it.
But I hated myself more.
Because I didn't want to stop.